


In Due Time

by Nimbus_Cloud



Series: Seasons [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Friends, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8961748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimbus_Cloud/pseuds/Nimbus_Cloud
Summary: A get-together story for Kuroo and Kenma set in my Seasons timeline of fics.  It focuses heavily on the year they spend apart while Kuroo is a first-year at Nekoma and Kenma is still a third-year in junior high.  I'm serious about that Mutual Pining tag.





	

 

“Whaddaya think?!” Kuroo put his hands triumphantly on his hips and grinned, puffing out his chest and flashing his canines for extra flair. 

“It looks a bit big on you.” Kenma didn’t so much as glance upwards, eyes glued to the game system in his hands.

“I’ll grow into it!” Kuroo huffed, crossing his arms.  “Mom says I’ll probably hit a growth spurt again soon and then it’ll fit just fine.” He tugged on the hem of his slightly-too-large, blue blazer, his posture shrinking and his bold confidence fast fading.  If he didn’t hit that growth spurt now, it’d be embarrassing.

“You’re already tall enough.”

“For a middle schooler.  But I’ll probably hit 180 soon!”

“And it doesn’t go with your hair.” 

“Hey—that’s not fair!”

Kuroo’s hands flew to his head, trying in vain to smooth down some of its rough edges.  It wasn’t like he could help what his hair looked like… And if Kenma thought it was his hair that ruined any outfit, then that meant he’d never look good in anything!  It was too discouraging for words.  Fiddling with his tie, he loosened it before flinging himself into the bed beside his friend.

“…It looks fine.” Kenma offered unconvincingly after a time, eyes flickering briefly to the striped tie.

“Whatever.” Kuroo pouted.  “This isn’t the uniform I was looking forward to anyway… Wait until I come home with a Nekoma team jersey!  Now _that_ I’ll look good in!”

“If you say so.”

“It’s red with black!  That’s basically the coolest color scheme there is.” He wrapped an arm around Kenma’s shoulders and pulled him in close.  “Don’t worry—it’ll look good on you too.”

“I don’t really care either way…” Kenma mumbled, eyeing the blue of Kuroo’s new blazer and thinking of the plain black _gakuran_ he still had to wear for another year.  It was hard to be excited about his only friend leaving him behind and alone for a year.  Again. 

As if he could sense his unease, Kuroo offered another confident grin and ruffled Kenma’s hair.  “Cheer up, Kenma!  A year will fly by in no time!”

“I wasn’t thinking about that.” Kenma lied.

“Yes you were.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

Kenma puffed out his cheeks in irritation and pinched the top of Kuroo’s hand to get his arm off him. 

“Owowowo owww!!”  Kuroo rolled away to nurse his hand as Kenma scooted himself off the bed. 

“I’m going home.  I start school tomorrow too.”

“Make sure you get up on time, because I won’t be going over to get you!” Kuroo teased.

“I get up just fine.” Kenma mumbled as he stuck his game system into his pocket. 

“Liar.  You hate mornings.”

There was no arguing with the fact that ever since they had met as children, Kuroo had gone to Kenma’s home every morning so that they could walk to school together.  After enough time, Kenma’s mother started simply letting him in to wake Kenma up on her behalf.  Even when Kuroo first started middle school, he had gone in the mornings to wake Kenma since their elementary and middle schools were fairly close, and they could still walk most of the way together.  But Nekoma was further away, and Kuroo needed to take a train earlier than Kenma would reasonably wake. 

“I hate mornings,” Kenma agreed.  “But I get up just fine.”

Hundreds of mornings where Kuroo had to wrench the covers off his friend and drag his limp and unwilling body downstairs spoke to the contrary, but Kuroo didn’t push the subject.  He said instead,

“Good.  Because you’re gonna have to.”

And maybe it was unfair to tease his friend about his inability to get up in the mornings, but Kuroo knew Kenma preferred the jabs over the blatant fretting.  Kenma had told him repeatedly that he didn’t need two moms in his life.

“Yeah, yeah… You just make sure to tie your tie properly tomorrow.” Kenma stuck his tongue out before slipping out the door, leaving Kuroo craning to peer at his own neck. 

He _had_ tied it properly, in fact.

“…cheeky brat.” He muttered to himself as he began packing his bag for his first day of high school.  His fingers were jittery, but the corners of his lips were upturned in an unmistakable smile.

A part of him felt bad for having to leave Kenma behind again, but many more parts of him were excited at the prospect of high school, high school life, and especially high school volleyball.  Soon, he’d be on a real competitive team, probably practice everyday inside a huge gymnasium, and maybe even go on training camps!  And although he wanted Kenma to enjoy it with him and be with him for every step of the way, he was more eager to simply get his first look.

Carefully, he shimmied out of his blazer to hang it up in his closet, then carefully slipped the tie up and over his head without undoing the knot—he’d be too excited in the morning to remember how to tie it up properly again. 

He texted Kenma a quick, _7am sharp!_ before speaking into the empty space of his room.

“Sorry, Kenma.  But I’m headed off first again.”

* * *

 

Kenma knew logically that not having Kuroo at the same school didn’t mean an entire world’s worth of difference.  They had, after all, always been in separate years and separate classes (some years, different lunch breaks too).  Outside of the walk to and from school, it wasn’t like Kenma’s daily school life had really changed.  The only noticeable difference was volleyball practice.  His last year in elementary school hadn’t forced him into a social setting like a team sport without his friend, so in this regard, it felt like a fresh, new hell.  It wasn’t just that Kuroo was missing; only one other player from Kenma’s own year had stuck it out to play volleyball for his third year as they all prepped for high school entrance exams.  This left mostly a host of second and first years Kenma didn’t know how to talk to.  He was supposed to be a _senpai_ figure now, but anyone who knew him knew how little he could assume that role.  Practice was when he really missed his friend.

And yet, Kenma felt he had hardly any room to complain when Kuroo still came by most days after school, sporting his new, ill-fitting high school uniform and griping about a libero with ‘too much attitude.’ 

“Today was our first day practicing with the team after we turned in our forms.  Receive practice nearly the entire time!” Kuroo groaned, rubbing at his forearms through his sleeves.  “It wouldn’t be so bad if Yaku weren’t so good at them.  Then really smug about it.” 

Kuroo had berated Kenma for not being able to remember Yaku and his team from when they had played against them the previous year, but ‘short’ and ‘irritatingly good at receives’ described literally every libero on the planet, so he didn’t feel too bad about it. 

“You said he’s a libero.  He’s _supposed_ to be good at receives.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to be so cocky about it!  He’s got a lot of hot air for someone so damn short.  Not cute at all!” 

“They say boys always tease the girls they like.” Kenma said noncommittally, eyes scanning his math homework.  “Sure you’re not developing a crush?”

“Don’t even joke,” Kuroo groaned.  “He’s not my type at all.” 

“Right, sorry.” Kenma hummed, a little surprised that Kuroo protest the obvious point.  “Your type is blue and yellow and completely round.”

“And your type is digital and lives in a screen,” Kuroo shot back.

“At least they don’t leave bruises on my arms.”

Kuroo slumped, laying his head in Kenma’s lap and wailing.  It was an old habit from their elementary school days he hadn’t quite grown out of.  Kenma wasn’t sure he ever would.  He wasn’t entirely sure that he minded, save for the coarse, spiky hairs poking at him through his pants.

“Kuro…”

“Just for a little bit.” Kuroo argued as he closed his eyes.

 _I should start putting up more resistance to this,_ Kenma thought.  _We’re getting older now and people who see us are gonna start thinking we’re weird for doing this._

 _But who would see us?  We’re alone in my room_. 

 _No… Behind closed doors makes it even more dangerous somehow…_ Kenma didn’t want to go a step further and articulate a reason why that would be. 

Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers through Kuroo’s hair, and immediately, Kuroo rolled into a more comfortable position, lips curling upward at the touch.  If he were a cat, he might have purred.

“We’re getting too old for this, probably.” Kenma muttered softly, hoping Kuroo would disagree.

“Nahh…” Kuroo dismissed him with a lazy wave of his hand.  “Nobody’s ever too old for anything except diapers.  People just start worrying too much about appearances.  Anyway, we’re at home, and it’s just between the two of us so who cares?”

It was heartening somewhat to hear that Kuroo wouldn’t do this with just anyone, but it just made Kenma worry for the day when he inevitably would.  He stared at the growing sharpness in Kuroo’s jawline, the thinning of his cheeks as he lost the last traces of baby fat… He noted the new prominence of Kuroo’s adam’s apple on a lengthening neck and the attractively loosened necktie around his collar.  His mother had been right; Kuroo would likely hit another growth spurt soon to make him the height he’d always aspired to be for volleyball.  Combined with his skills, it would likely guarantee him a regular position on the team, and it would also no doubt attract the fawning attentions of many high school girls.  Maybe one day very soon, Kuroo would lay his head in the lap of some girl to take a lazy afternoon nap on the rooftop during lunch and smile as she ran her fingers gently through his hair. 

The thought pressed a sad weight against his chest, so Kenma shifted his legs where he sat, pushing a hand against Kuroo’s shoulder to urge him up.

“Ok, I have math homework to do.”

“Fine…” Kuroo clicked his tongue, but he sat up, leaving Kenma’s lap cold.  “Need any help with it?”

“I got it.” Kenma shrugged, scooting away slightly.

Grinning, Kuroo patted Kenma’s head before pulling out homework of his own and settling in, leaning his back against Kenma’s bed as he opened a textbook to read.  “Let me know if you get stuck on anything.”

“I’m not stupid, Kuro.” Kenma snapped.

“I know that.” Kuroo said.  And it was sincere.  “I just…” He bit his lip.  “I just really wanna make sure you get into Nekoma.” And that was so honest Kenma felt his breath stutter before he turned his face downwards again, the numbers on the page now jumbling nonsensically in his brain. 

“Read your book,” he mumbled.  “You can double-check my work after if you’re that worried.”

It was hard to remember if the year’s gap between them had felt so vast three years prior when Kuroo had started middle school before him. 

_No.  I didn’t have to pass an entrance exam back then.  And Kuro hadn’t been nearly so handsome._

* * *

 

Maybe Kuroo had been humbled by growing up with a friend a year behind him in school, but he never could buy into the idea of age hierarchy.  Respect for his elders was one thing when it came to parents or teachers, but the level of deference his upperclassmen expected seemed obscene.  He knew firsthand that one year’s difference in life experience didn’t count for that much; he doubted two years made for exponentially more difference. 

Eleven players total to the team, but the three third-years refused to cooperate with post-practice cleanup, and the five second-years divided the work such that the most difficult majority of the effort went to the three first-years.  Kai went along without complaint, but Kuroo and Yaku did the work with no small amount of griping commentary. 

“At my middle school, Coach made all of us do the work equally like a team.” Yaku scoffed after practice one afternoon as the three of them sat outside a convenience store, snacks in hand. 

“Mine too!” Kuroo groaned.  His legs were sore from practice, and his back was sore from running around the gym picking up all the volleyballs.

“It’s the standard first-year hazing, I think.” Kai said mildly, though he was rubbing at his own aching joints.  “I’m sure it’ll die down some in a couple of weeks.  We have a practice match with another school coming up soon.  Once we prove our skills there, I think they’ll ease up on us.”

“That’s if they let us play.” Yaku grumbled. 

“Well at least _that’s_ not up to the upperclassmen; it’s up to Coach.  He’ll put us on the court if he thinks it’ll help.” Kuroo sighed.  One saving grace.

“Bad news for you then.” Yaku smirked.  “How many receives did you fumble today?”

“You little—“

“Kuroo and I missed the same amount, I think.” Kai interjected.  “But he has the better reflexes for it.”

“You’re better than you give yourself credit for, Kai.” Yaku nudged the spiker’s arm.

“What about me?!” Kuroo gasped, indignant.  He so often was with anything Yaku said.

“You give yourself _too_ much credit!” Yaku hissed.

Kai sighed as the bickering continued despite his best efforts, though he noted a distinct lack of obvious hostility when compared to their interactions a week prior.  It was almost playful now. 

But whatever their animosities, they proved quite cooperative when put on the court together.  Yaku’s skills as a top-ranking middle school libero were given ample room to shine in Nekoma’s practice match against Ubugawa—a fact even Kuroo acknowledged through gritted teeth. 

“Not bad at all…” Kuroo smirked down at the libero afterwards, holding up his chin and standing as tall as he possibly could. 

“Easy.”  Yaku smirked right back.  “I just look for the holes in your blocks and position myself accordingly!”

A vein throbbed in Kuroo’s temple.  “Guess I better try harder so you don’t even get a chance to touch the ball then!  I’ll block every spike!  Every last one!  We won’t even need a libero!”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Coach Naoi chuckled, suddenly appearing beside them.  “Expect to be on the court a lot more, boys.  I’ve got plans for you.”

“Yes, Coach!” They shouted in unison, before sharing a wry fist-bump. 

But contrary to Kai’s hopes, their skills—while impressive to their coach—didn’t earn them any favors from the upperclassmen as it put them in direct contention with two second-years for regular positions on the team.  Despite Kuroo’s best efforts to attempt open communication with all of the second and third years—weren’t they all supposed to be on the same team?—his pleas fell on ears deaf to the meaning of sportsmanship.  This was a wall he couldn’t spike through. 

“Let it go, Kuroo.” Yaku was trying to sound cool about it, but it was clear he was just as frustrated.  The first years had been left to clean the gymnasium alone while the rest of the team held a team meeting.  It baffled them as to how a team meeting could be held without the entire team, but first-years weren’t meant to ask questions.

“We’re supposed to be a team!” Kuroo huffed as he vigorously mopped the floor.  “How are we supposed to win and end up at nationals, let alone top eight in the prefecture?”  He said the last bit mockingly, despising such low ambition for their high school sports careers.

“We’re still a decent team,” Kai offered as he undid one side of the volleyball net.  “We win a good chunk of our practice matches, and Coach always has us building a solid foundation.” 

“We could be better,” Kuroo replied tersely.  “We’re _going_ to be better.  Just you wait.  Next year, my friend Kenma will graduate middle school and come to Nekoma.  And with him, we’ll be a powerhouse team again.”

“Is he some sort of massive Ace?” Yaku teased.  “Tall and strong and intimidating?”

Kuroo cackled.  “He’s only a little bit taller than you, and he’s quiet, and he hates exerting himself and getting tired.” 

“What—“

“But he’s got brains.  He sees the court better than anyone, and he knows how to strategize.”

“That—“

“What position does he play?” Kai cut in, seemingly interested.

“Setter.” Kuroo grinned. 

“There’s a second-year _senpai_ I can think of who won’t thank him for that.”  Yaku crossed his arms.  “We can’t just ignore the second-years who’ll stick around to be the main players next year.  And anyway, your friend Kenta—“

“Kenma.”

“ _Kenma_ isn’t joining us next week or next month.  A year.” Yaku held his arms out to the side as if a year could be measured by the distance between his hands.  “And in that year, we’re stuck with _this_ team, and we have to work with that.” 

Kuroo sighed, moving to help Kai fold up the net. 

“I hate it when you’re right.”  Kuroo glared, but his posture screamed defeat. 

They passed the rest of their cleanup in silence, the air oppressively warm in the empty gym and their mood betraying the fact that they had won their afternoon practice match.  Looking too far ahead to a hypothetically brighter future made it hard to live with gloomy present circumstances.   

Kuroo dragged his feet on the way home, hands firmly rooted in his pockets.  The general bustle of the city around him filled his ears and was wonderful white noise until he reached the quiet side streets of his neighborhood.  Then it was only his thoughts to occupy him, and neither the silence nor his own self-pitying inner monologue were welcome. 

He ended up at Kenma’s as he so often did—it was closer than his own, albeit by a couple of minutes—and rang the doorbell. 

“Ah, Tetsu-kun!”  Kenma’s mother beamed at him.  “Kenma actually just went out to head to your place!”

“He—he did?”

“Only just before you came!  I’m sure you’ll catch him if you just walk a little faster.”

“Ah—yeah.  Sorry to bother you!” 

He bowed abruptly and ran off as Kenma’s mother waved good-bye.  It only took him two corners before he saw Kenma walking back toward him, nose buried in his game system, weaving a snaky line down the road. 

“You’re gonna run yourself right into a pole,” Kuroo chided as he snatched Kenma’s game system out of his hands.  “Look up when you’re walking.”

“Kuro!” Kenma’s eyes were wide, but relieved.  “Your mom said you were still at practice.” 

“Practice match today.  Went late.” 

“ _That_ late?” Kenma raised an eyebrow.

 _Well, afterward the first-years had to clean everything while the upperclassmen took off because they can’t be bothered to do anything as a team except practice and play matches._   Kuroo didn’t say this last part aloud.  Yaku was right.  Whether he liked them or not, whether he respected them or not, they were his team for the next year. 

“Wanna go to the riverbank?” Kuroo cocked his head.  Assuming Kenma could stand to be outside, it was their go-to spot in the neighborhood.

“Don’t tell me you want to—“

“Not for volleyball!” Kuroo laughed.  “Just felt like a walk.” 

Kenma stared in long silence—the sort that meant he was dissecting the situation carefully and considering all of his options—before giving a relenting shrug.  “Ok.”

“It’s rare that you come looking for me,” Kuroo grinned as they set off, raising the game system above his head when Kenma reached for it, thinking him distracted.  “Did you need something?  Or did you just miss me?  Aww… don’t look at me like that!”

“Something’s off with you.” Kenma said plainly.

 _Of course he can tell,_ Kuroo thought miserably.  _He can always tell.  Even with just one glance._ He didn’t know if his poker face sucked or if Kenma just knew him too well. 

“Just tired.  Long day, remember?”

His friend’s frown told Kuroo he wasn’t the least bit convincing, but the subject was dropped until they reached the water, the sky a deep shade of muddy-orange as the sung hung low in the horizon. 

“…Is it a girl?” Kenma asked quietly after a time.

“Wh-what?!  Why on earth—“

“You _are_ getting to that age.”

“’That age,’ he says…  We only have the one year separating us, you little—“

“One year counts for a lot.” Kenma kicked a pebble into the water, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  “Even just one year.” Their eyes met across the fading light.  “It’s a lot.” 

It gutted Kuroo to hear Kenma say that.  His friend always spoke in plain and simple truths; no flowery expositions or emotional soliloquies.  Even without the vocal inflection, Kuroo felt the melancholy seep into his bones.

There wasn’t much he could do for the state of the Nekoma volleyball team except to improve his own skills.  But when it came to Kenma, he could still be his support.  They’d always been a year apart in school; he’d never let that stop him before.  He just had to try a little harder. 

“How’s your third year of junior high treating you?”

“Not terribly.” Kenma crouched down into the grass, folding his arms above his knees.  “Not great though.”

“I guess that’s about as well as I could have hoped for you.” Kuroo chuckled.  “And the team?”

“About the same.  Not really any better, but we didn’t get any worse with the new first-years.  When competition rolls around, we’ll probably place around the same level as last year.”  Plain and simple truths.  “The other third-year said he’d quit after that.  I might do the same so I can study.”  Kenma looked up at Kuroo briefly.  “I know you wanted me to keep playing without you, but—“

“Half a year is better than skipping an entire one.  I’ll keep you in shape, if push comes to shove!” Kuroo grinned, and Kenma sighed.

“I feel tired just looking at that grin.”

“I can think of a couple of my teammates who’d help pitch in, too!”

“Lucky me.” Kenma muttered under his breath.

“You can always rely on me, Kenma-kuuuun~” Kuroo laughed, parroting his childhood self.  He used to say the phrase quite frequently in the early months of their friendship until it became so obvious he didn’t need to say it anymore.  _Depend on me.  Rely on me.  I’ll take care of you._   And then Kenma would tell him to shut up because he was embarrassing him—

“You can rely on me too, you know,” Kenma grumbled, eyes on the water.

_Wait—_

“Like when you’re stressed or bothered about high school,” Kenma kept his eyes resolutely forward as Kuroo began to gawk.  “I can’t help with academics… or girls… but I know you better than anyone.”

Plain and simple truths.  _Depend on me.  Rely on me.  I’ll…_

He wasn’t sure when he had moved, but his arms found himself around Kenma.  Before he could overthink it, Kuroo buried his face into Kenma’s shoulder, forcing his mind to go blank.  To his great comfort, Kenma didn’t pull away, merely reached up with a small hand to gently squeeze one of his own.  It felt like he had squeezed his heart instead.  It was hard to remember if they had ever done this before; if Kuroo had ever been the one in need of reassurance between them.  Mostly, he wanted to know when he had started needing Kenma so badly. 

 _Best friends don’t normally do this._ Kuroo thought.  _We’re getting too old for this to mean just friendship to anyone who might look our way.  But…_

“Sorry.” Kuroo mumbled into Kenma’s hoodie.  “You’re right.  High school’s… different.” 

He didn’t say any more than that, but he knew Kenma understood enough from the firmness of Kuroo’s grip around him.

* * *

 

 

 

> _How was Interhigh?_

Kenma had been considering going as the competition drew near, but the lack of an invitation from Kuroo combined with a Monday exam rather made the decision for him in the end.  Kuroo’s reply came quickly, his phone buzzing the second he put it down.

 

 

> **_Top 8.  Then we got knocked out of the quarter-finals._ **
> 
> _Do you want me to come over?_

Kenma ignored the open textbook glaring at him in his peripheral vision, silently scolding him for offering to run off from his studies.

 

 

> **_I’ll come to you._ **

Kuroo’s text made him excited yet calmer somehow.  With Interhigh preparations demanding most of Kuroo’s spare time, Kenma hadn’t seen him in over a week, and the texts had been sparse.  He had been feeling the growing agitation he sometimes felt in crowded spaces with too much noise.  Only, he felt it alone in his quiet room.  Some days, Kenma had taken to simply sitting by the kitchen to have the ambient noise of his mother cooking and the warbled sounds of the television. 

He went downstairs now to grab a drink from the fridge.

“Kuro’s coming over,” he told his mother.

She nodded her head once as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears and set the pot of washed rice into the rice cooker.  “Oh, didn’t he have a tournament this weekend?”

“InterHigh.  They placed in the top eight.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?”

Kenma wasn’t sure.  They’d never have placed so high with their middle school team, but he knew Kuroo’s ultimate goal had always been Nationals.  Was it more frustrating to have it be completely out of reach, or to have it so close so as to feel the pain of loss?  Kuroo used to cry when they lost games in middle school, so Kenma was well prepared for the possibility of opening the door to a Kuroo on the verge of tears.  But instead he greeted a Kuroo that seemed almost… bored?

“Hey.  Sorry to bother.” Kuroo kicked off his shoes lazily, gave his greetings to Kenma’s mother, then began to trudge up to Kenma’s room, pausing on the steps when he realized Kenma wasn’t following.  “Not coming up?”

“Ah… No.  Yes.” 

Kenma followed after his friend, watching carefully for the usual signs of distress, but none were presenting themselves.  Somehow, that was more considerably more alarming.

Kuroo glanced at the open textbook once in the room and smirked.  “History exam?”

Kenma nodded wordlessly as Kuroo picked a book from Kenma’s bookshelf without looking at the spine then flopped onto his bed. 

_This is…_

“I thought you’d be more upset.” Kenma finally admitted.

“What, about Interhigh?”

Kuroo glanced at the cover finally to see which book he’d grabbed.  A compilation of _tanka_ from the early 1900’s.  Mandatory school reading.  His lips pulled into a frown—it would not have been Kuroo’s first choice if he’d been paying attention.

“Well… yeah.  You wanted Nationals, right?”

“Everyone wants to go to Nationals.” Kuroo shrugged, opening the volume to a random page.  “Top eight is nothing small—my upperclassmen are satisfied with it, and they’re the ones about to graduate.” 

“But…”

“Do you want me to throw a tantrum every time my team loses a game?”

“I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just…”

_This isn’t like you._

Kenma wrung his fingers.  Apathy was not a look that suited Kuroo.  An absence of tears was one thing, but to not even display any general melancholy or frustration?  It felt like Kuroo had given up—like he had given up before the competition had even started, and that spoke to the deterioration of something fundamental inside him. 

“What about Spring High qualifier?” Kenma asked tentatively.

“Our third years are retiring, so we have to re-work our team composition.  I’ll be a regular now.  Yaku too.  We’ll see how it goes.” Kuroo shrugged as he skimmed the pages.

_No.  You’re supposed to say that Spring High is where you’ll avenge yourselves and push all the way ahead to Nationals.  You’re supposed to grin at me and tell me that you’ll be a champion, and that I should look forward to being a part of that team soon._

Kenma opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, trying to get his thoughts to solidify on his tongue, but they slipped further away with Kuroo’s every mindless turn of the pages of his book.  Kuroo didn’t even seem excited to becoming a regular, and Kenma couldn’t even wrap his head around that.  In the end, it was Kuroo who broke the silence first. 

“If you need to study, I can go.”

 _High school’s changing him._ Kenma recalled the way Kuroo had clung to him on the riverbank.  _It’s hurting him._

“You can stay.” Kenma found his words.  “I’m gonna play a game.  Mom will call us down for dinner soon anyway, so I don’t want to start the reading just yet.” 

Kenma grabbed his 3DS and immediately scooted into the bed beside Kuroo, making himself a barrier between Kuroo and the door.  He half-hoped that the proximity might encourage a little more openness from his friend.  Or that Kuroo would discard the book in favor of a nap, rolling his head into Kenma’s lap as he so frequently did, and that maybe Kenma could feel useful in providing a small modicum of comfort. 

But Kuroo did none of these things.  Although Kenma could feel Kuroo’s body heat pressed into his side where they touched, the air was chilly between them, and he wasn’t sure how to pull Kuroo close so he wouldn’t drift too far away.  He needed to find the right words, but they evaded him. 

_Say something._

Maybe if he were older and wiser, he’d know what to do.  Maybe Kuroo’s new age was beginning to inspire changes Kenma couldn’t comprehend.  Were high school experiences really so different?  How would he know if they were?  Kenma’s information was incomplete.  He couldn’t think of a solution to the problem without seeing all the variables, but the only way to see was to wait for time to carry him to high school.  Normally he didn’t mind waiting.  But seeing Kuroo like this made him feverishly impatient.

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks, as spring gave way to summer and the cicadas came roaring to announce the season, Kuroo breached 180 centimeters as predicted, hitting 183 minus the hair spikes.  But that wasn’t all.  After weeks of squeaking voice cracks followed by embarrassed silences, a soft baritone timbre settled into his voice, ringing anew in Kenma’s ears although it was no less familiar. 

Kenma thought all the changes rather suited him, like Kuroo had grown into himself at last.  But Kenma wasn’t the only one to take notice of the differences.  A growing pile of love letters now occupied a small corner of Kuroo’s desk, and Kenma found his eyes hopelessly drawn to them whenever he was in Kuroo’s room.  It felt like every new addition to the stack pulled this new, strapping, mature Kuroo further away from him. 

Best friends were supposed to feel happy for their friend’s growing popularity, Kenma reminded himself.  Maybe a little envy, maybe a twinge of pride.  Kenma felt only a growing sadness.

“Do you answer all of them?” Kenma asked one afternoon, plucking the topmost envelope off the pile.  It was perfumed and neatly and formally addressed with Kuroo’s entire name.  He suspected an upperclassman.

“Nah.” Kuroo twirled a pen between his fingers from where he sat at the floor table.  “Some of them are anonymous, some of them say they don’t actually want an answer, they just needed to tell me their feelings to get it out.  Most of them sound about the same, and I don’t have the time.”

“But you read them all.” Kenma noted.

“It’s the polite thing to do.” Kuroo shrugged.

It felt an unsatisfactory answer, even though Kenma knew it was the whole of it.

“Do you talk about girls?” Kenma pressed.  “To your teammates?  To… Yaku?  Or Kai?”

“Not really…” Kuroo turned to give Kenma his full attention now.  “What’s this about?” 

“It’s just… you never talk about girls with me.  I don’t even know your type, if you have one.  You’ve never told me.” Kenma bit his lip.  “Lately, you don’t even talk about volleyball.”

He was trying to sound casual, but he could tell he was failing, no matter how flat his voice sounded.

Kuroo sighed, running his hands through his hair.  His expression was almost guilty.

“I don’t talk about girls because I’m not particularly interested in them.  I don’t really have a type because I haven’t been thinking about it.” 

“And volleyball?”

“That’s…” Kuroo looked away, eyes falling to the ground before they flew up to the wall calendar beside his bed.  “I have a week-long summer training camp coming up.  For a week, it’s gonna be all I do all day, every day.  I’ll tell you all about it when I’m back.  It’ll be so much volleyball, it’ll make you sick.” 

The lack of new information was quickly frustrating Kenma, who bit his lip and glared at the floor.

_Why won’t he depend on me?  Even a little?  Am I no good?  Does being in middle school make me that unreliable?_

Sighing, Kuroo pulled Kenma to the floor, making him sit before laying his head in Kenma’s lap and closing his eyes. 

“Kuro…”

“Just for a bit.  My head hurts, and I don’t have a girlfriend or a volleyball on hand.  So it has to be you.”

Kenma sucked in a careful breath to try and slow his wildly beating heart, cursing himself for being so easily appeased. 

 _It has to be me…_ he repeated in his head.  _But for how long?_

* * *

 

For Kuroo, the changes that transformed his body were all the things he had wanted as a boy.  But they set in so suddenly, he now felt out of place in his own skin.  His joints felt sore and off-balanced—like he needed to figure out how to move his own body again.  And he would’ve appreciated everyone looking away for a few weeks and allowing him a grace period to recalibrate.  Instead, it felt like all eyes were always locked on him as he bumbled about; Kuroo felt he finally understood some of Kenma’s social anxiety.  His newfound clumsiness made practice difficult: it earned him extra criticisms from Yaku, sneers from his upperclassmen, but at the very least, it also earned him gracious understanding and advice from the Coach.  His new height was now one that left him towering a head above most everyone in his class and on the trains, and it made him stick out like a sore thumb.  These were the differences everyone could see.  As for the rest…

Inside him, a whirlwind of other changes were setting in.  Hormones and feelings he didn’t know what to do with—he knew he was moodier, more temperamental, though he tried his best not to let any of it show.  It was frustrating to _know_ there was nothing to get worked up about, but feeling upset anyway.  Worst of all, he had had his first wet dream since middle school—a cliché marker of teenage shame by itself—and he had woken up moaning _Kenma’s_ name. 

He was going to die of shame, but fear of that death still didn’t stop him from staring too long at his friend or from absentmindedly wondering what Kenma’s lips might actually feel like against his own. 

It made him feel sordid—he was tainting their friendship and betraying Kenma’s trust by thinking of him that way.  So he tried to divert his attentions, but his body was painfully honest about the truth he had told Kenma earlier—he wasn’t particularly interested in _girls_.  And it wasn’t for lack of trying.  Looking up gay porn felt like an even bigger betrayal somehow, like Kenma should be the _only_ boy to catch his interest that way… and he was also the _one_ person Kuroo should be forbidden from fantasizing about!  Neither his body nor his mind were listening.

Nor were his teammates.

“If I get one more girl coming up to me asking me to deliver a letter for you, I’m gonna hurl all over the letter, and then all over you.”  Yaku griped as he chucked a small envelope into Kuroo’s face.

“Hey!  It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, shrimp,” Kuroo bit back, retrieving the paper where it fell on the floor.  “I have to turn them down, and some of them cry.  It’s not exactly what I would call fun.”

“Are you seriously complaining about being popular with girls?  Kai, hold me back.”

“You got a couple of letters too, didn’t you, Yaku?” Kai asked instead.

“From girls expecting me to be the cute, sweet type of boy; the type that wants to be coddled and looked after and probably wears… sailor outfits, I don’t know!” Yaku fumed.

“Ah.” Kai laughed nervously while Kuroo openly cackled.  “I suppose it would help for them to have a better idea of what you’re like.”

“If they knew what he was really like, he’d never get love letters in the first place.” Kuroo snickered.

“You—“

This time, Kai did hold Yaku back. 

“Anyway!” The libero crossed his arms after wriggling out of Kai’s grasp.  “They were all too tall.  I’d prefer a cute, short girl.” 

“Good luck finding a girl smaller than you.” Kuroo scoffed.  “Impossible standards, much?”

“If we’re gonna talk about ‘impossible standards,’ just what are _you_ holding out for?  Seriously, none of those girls are even worth considering to you?”

“Nah.  They know me about as well as those girls knew you.  More importantly, I’m not looking for a girlfriend right now.” 

What he left unsaid was that he already had someone of interest, however impossible, and none of them would ever know him as deeply as Kenma.  Nor were any of them near as cute.

“I bet you secretly have a girlfriend but you won’t tell because you’re enjoying all this attention.  I feel bad for her.” Yaku teased.  “That or you’re one of those pathetic guys holding out for some idol you’re obsessed with.” 

“My, what an imagination you have… Care to join us in the real world at some point?” Kuroo drawled, though he could’ve throttled Yaku upside the head for being half-right. 

Kai seemed to sense the topic was exhausted—at least on Kuroo’s end—and steered the conversation toward an upcoming exam.  A considerably more depressing topic, but Kuroo was grateful.  School was supposed to be one of the only places where he could keep himself distracted from himself. 

Yet here was again, head in Kenma’s lap, eyes closed, and mentally berating himself for taking advantage.  He had promised he would always look _after_ Kenma, not look _at_ him with hidden intentions.  Like some sort of old creep.

“Do _you_ think about girls?” Kuroo wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know, but the question burst out of him before he could stop himself. 

“Not really…” Kenma muttered after a considerable silence.  His expression was somewhere between annoyed and confused, and Kuroo half felt bad for asking.  But he also found it adorable.

“See…” Kuroo reached up to poke Kenma’s nose from where he lay.  “You don’t have a type either.”  He didn’t voice his relief when Kenma failed to disagree.

“No, but…” Kenma started, but stopped short and bit his lip.

“But?  There’s a but?!”

Kenma shook his head, pulling on his hair to cover more of his now-blushing face. 

“Hey, you’re not getting off that easy.” Kuroo pulled himself up into a sitting position to get a better look at Kenma’s face.  “I wanna hear the rest of that sentence.”

When Kenma continued to answer with silence, Kuroo gasped theatrically, bringing both hands up to cup his face.  “You _do_ have a type, don’t you?”

“No!” Kenma was pouting now.  “I just mean… I don’t think I ever would.  Since I never think about that stuff.  Girls.  Or dating.  Or what people find attractive.” 

“So you’ve never found anyone attractive in your whole life.” Kuroo laughed, mostly out of selfish relief.  “That’s just like you.”  But perhaps a tad bittersweet, since it meant Kenma would never find Kuroo attractive either.

Kenma was pulling another face, so Kuroo pinched his nose.  “Stop with the faces.  I didn’t say it to make fun of you.”

“You think it’s weird.”

“There are weirder people than that in the world, Kenma.  Anyway, I’m probably weirder than you.” Though he couldn’t confess exactly why.

“Only your hair.” Kenma smiled wryly.

“You really know how to go straight for the gut, don’t you?” Kuroo put a hand to his heart, wounded.  “Someday, my hair will be normal, and you won’t be able to use it as a weapon anymore.” 

“I wouldn’t really go _wishing_ for male-pattern baldness just to look normal.”

“Would you still love me if I were bald?” The instant the words were out of his mouth, Kuro realized how awkward the wording was.  He couldn’t be sure if he’d been careful enough to leave the longing out of his voice.  _Did it sound enough like a joke?_

But Kenma just blinked as if considering the question seriously before shrugging.  “Yeah.  Probably.”

The innocuous comment was an arrow to his heart.  He couldn’t let it show, but he also couldn’t stop the grin that curled his lips.  That was harmless enough, wasn’t it?  Just a joke between best friends.  They’d always been like this, hadn’t they?  Affectionate and warm? 

Kuroo just had to… he just needed to…

“Kuro?”

“Hm?”

“You were making a weird face.”

“Sorry.  Lost my train of thought for a second.”

He just needed to sort himself out.

* * *

 

Really, the training camp was the ideal opportunity to get himself back on track.  He’d be busy all day, he’d never be left completely alone, and he could focus on volleyball like he was supposed to.  His enthusiasm for it had waned in the immediate aftermath of InterHigh, it was true.  He wanted to play with a Nekoma jersey on his back, but not with the current Nekoma team, who couldn’t even visualize being at the top, just somewhere near it.  He had hoped that with the third-years’ retirement that perspectives might shift, but their new captains were just as unreceptive to victory as their old ones: maintain their top eight standing, aim for top four. 

Even at the training camp, they seemed content with mediocrity.

“Of the teams participating in this camp, Fukurodani is probably the strongest.  They consistently make it to Nationals most years, so it’s always a good experience playing against them.  But don’t get discouraged when we lose.”

“ _When_ we lose?” Yaku muttered under his breath.  “Great vote of confidence there.”

“We can think ‘if’ instead and play to win.” Kai whispered between them.

Kuroo silently agreed, but didn’t chime in.  

Like them, he wanted to play to win, but he had personal deficiencies to overcome in the handling of his new height and build.  He felt like a violin that had just gotten new strings.  They needed repeated stretching in order to be broken in, and until then, tuning was a pain in the ass.  Every new piece played would stretch them just a little more, and then he needed to tune it again. 

To tune himself, Kuroo opted for extra practices alone after all the team matches and practices were concluded for the day.  Kai lauded his stamina while Yaku scoffed at the wasted energy. 

Unfortunately, there was only so much he could do on his own.

“Hey, hey, hey!!!”

As if in answer to his prayers—albeit a mocking one—this became his introduction to Bokuto Koutarou, a first-year regular on the Fukurodani team with hair even more ridiculous than his own.  And a personality to match.

“Practicing all alone?  Let’s team up, kitty cat!”

“…what?!” Kuroo dropped the ball in his hands.

“You’re from Nekoma, right?” Bokuto curled one hand into a fist and flicked his wrist, imitating a _maneki neko_ pose. 

“We don’t do that—“

“That’s too bad.  It’d be cute.  Anyway, I’m Bokuto Koutarou, Fukurodani’s future Ace!” 

He held out a hand for Kuroo to shake and Kuroo was suddenly reminded of a much younger version of himself—though he _had_ to be less obnoxious than _this_. 

“Kuroo.  Tetsurou.”  He took the hand that was offered, shaking it firmly.  When he felt Bokuto put more strength into their handshake, he gripped harder in turn.

“Kuroo!!!” Bokuto roared, testing the sound of the name on his tongue… in the loudest volume.  He was a screeching baby owl flapping its wings in excitement and screaming just to test its own vocal chords.  But so long as he stopped calling him ‘kitty cat’ it was better than practicing alone.

One-on-one was awkward without a setter, so most of their time went to serve-receive practice, with Bokuto attempting to learn a jump serve and Kuroo fine-tuning the receives Nekoma prided itself on.  Kuroo found Bokuto loud and obnoxious, but undeniably skilled.  Not to mention, oddly, frustratingly fun to be around.  He’d never admit it aloud and certainly not to Bokuto, but the self-proclaimed future Ace of Fukurodani was surprisingly cool. 

“You’re different from the rest of your team!” Bokuto chirped one night.  It was their last night before the last day of the camp, and after several nights together, Bokuto felt he now knew Kuroo quite well.  It was time for heart-to-hearts now. 

“Pot.  Kettle.” Kuroo smirked back—no one could be as different from the crowd as Bokuto. 

“What about pots?”

“Nothing, never mind.” 

“Anyway, I’ve always sorta thought this, but… Nekoma’s _good._ The problem is, it never feels like you guys are trying to win!  Like… you never just _go_ for it.” 

“Everyone’s always trying to win.” Kuroo said defensively, but he relented when Bokuto furrowed his eyebrows at him.  “…maybe not against your team.  You guys are nationally ranked.  We know our chances against you guys are low.”

“You don’t think that though!” Bokuto threw the ball he held in his hands at Kuroo, who caught it with his recently tuned reflexes.  “I see you across the net, and I know _you_ want to win.  I can see you wanna beat me!” 

“Maybe I just wanna shut you up for once.” Kuroo sneered.

“Hey man!  Whatever it takes!  But wanting to win is important!  What’s the point of playing if you’re not in it to win it?!”

Something clicked into place at last in Kuroo’s head: Either a missing cog or a broken link now reconnected.  It was suddenly obvious that he had been over-complicating things, but the answer was atrociously simple.  He loved to play volleyball, and he wanted to win.  Because winning meant more opportunities to play. 

“You know, very occasionally… And I mean _very_ rarely,” Kuroo stressed.  “You can say some pretty decent stuff.  You dumb owl.”

“Hey!  I say decent stuff all the time!”

Kuroo noted that he didn’t exactly argue against ‘dumb’ or ‘owl.’

“Hooting doesn’t count.”

Bokuto picked up a ball from around his feet and hurled it at a cackling Kuroo, who dodged it quite elegantly.  He was more and more in tune every day. 

“Argh!  You make it really hard to like you, you know!” Bokuto crossed his arms.

“Are you trying to like me?”

“Well… you _are_ the only person I’ve ever known to practice extra with me like this… And I get in a pretty good sweat during our sessions.  We’re like… rivals!”

“Awww, Bokuto-kun… are you falling in love with me?” Kuroo teased, only half-flirting.  He figured Bokuto would be too dense to pick up on it. 

Ignoring the provocation, Bokuto continued.  “You should come to Fukurodani!  You’re good enough to be a regular, and don’t you want to be on a more… winny… team?”

“Your appalling vocabulary aside… _no way!”_ Kuroo smirked. 

He had Yaku and Kai and Kenma on the way.  He didn’t have his ideal team now, but he would soon, and he’d be the one to help build it from the ground up.  He’d make it something to look forward to. 

“You helped me get my head on straight.” Kuroo admitted quietly.  “So now I’m staying put.”

“Wait, what was wrong with your head?”

“Less than you!” Kuroo laughed to himself.  “Come on, future Ace.  Your cross-spikes are still shit.”

* * *

 

 

 

> **_Headed home tomorrow.  Should be back by dinner._ **

Kenma read the texts with silent glee in the dark of his room.  He may not enjoy going out or being forced to interact with large amounts of people, but even Kenma got a bit lonely in the week that Kuroo was away for his training camp.  His mother had even noticed his melancholy and teased the possibility of her son being lovesick.  And she was half-right. 

In Kuroo’s absence, Kenma had tried to dissect his thoughts and feelings toward his friend.  Being his _best_ friend, Kenma felt no shortage of warmth and affection for Kuroo, but he could say the same about his parents.  Or stray cats.  But some corner of his brain kept insisting that Kuroo was different.  _Very_ different. 

He had fun being with Kuroo—but he also had fun playing video games, and Monster Hunter didn’t leave him feeling hollow inside when he wasn’t playing it. 

The answer made itself known when he was made to watch a movie with his mother earlier in the week.  The plot was unoriginal and full of narrative holes, but the effects were passable and the action sequences were entertaining at least.  The romance, however, was entirely forced and the inappropriately timed on-screen kiss left Kenma cringing.  His mother had laughed at him, chiding him for being ‘such a teenage boy.’ 

“One day, when you’re older, you’ll find a girl you _want_ to kiss.  And then every time will seem like the right time.” 

Kenma’s unvoiced thoughts had been:

_First of all, gross.  Second of all, I don’t want to kiss a random girl, I want to kiss Kuroo._

And after that… Well, after that, thinking about the topic got a lot more complicated.  Hindsight being 20/20, he could almost kick himself for not realizing it sooner when all the signs had been present for as long as they had been.  But okay, he had managed to identify the problem, however late, the next step was to identify a solution. 

Alas, Google provided little-to-no assistance on the search topic: how to fall out of love.

When he wasn’t pondering how to stop his heart from pitter-pattering every time he got a text, his mind would wander (without permission) into lines of thought that asked how it might feel to actually kiss Kuroo… what might it be like to be enveloped in his arms, now so much bigger and stronger?  He ran his hands through Kuroo’s hair plenty, he now wanted to feel Kuroo’s fingers run through his own.

Then he’d remember the pile of love letters in Kuroo’s room and was soberly reminded that Kuroo would likely develop that interest in girls before Kenma could ever dream of asking him to do such a thing. 

At least for now, he had some monopoly on Kuroo’s affections. 

He couldn’t kiss him, but he could strongly hint to his mother that grilled, salted mackerel would be a very good dinner option for tomorrow.

* * *

 

In fourteen years of life, Kenma had never come to fully understand the symbolic significance of birthdays.  As far as he figured, he got technically a year older by virtue of the linear passage of time and the earth completing a revolution around the sun, he’d get some presents, his mom would cook all of his favorite foods, and that was that.  The deep philosophical implications of age and personal growth were lost on him.  Kuroo usually got more excited than he did on the day, and had attempted a surprise of some kind on more than a few occasions.  But after all of their years spent together as friends, Kenma had become acclimated to his plots. 

It was precisely this false sense of security that led to his heart leaping into his throat on the morning of the first day of his fifteenth year.

Kuroo woke him up—for half a year that had _not_ been the case—and while Kenma clutched his blanket tight around him and struggled to catch his breath from the outburst of noise he had not been expecting, Kuroo laughed and slapped his own leg in glee.

“Hahahah!!!  Did I scare you that badly?”

“K-Kuro… what are you doing in here…”  _Besides sending me to an early grave…_

I came by before my train to wake you!  I wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday!” Kuroo grinned playfully, as if he hadn’t just nearly ended Kenma’s life at the tender age of just-turned-fifteen. 

“I’m gonna tell my mom to stop letting you into the house in the mornings.” Kenma closed his eyes and slumped back onto the mattress.  His heart slowly made its way back into his chest where it belonged.

Kuroo always insisted on being the very first one to wish Kenma a happy birthday—a fact Kenma had regrettably forgotten, given the various other things he had had on his mind in recent months.

“Happy fifteenth birthday.” Kuroo half-whispered, leaning down to bring their faces closer together.

“Mmgrrmph…” Kenma mumbled, keeping his eyes stubbornly shut.  Kuroo was too close.  He could smell his toothpaste.

“Aww, don’t be like that.  Fifteen is special!”

“What so special about fifteen?”

“It’s the age you’ll enter high school as.  You’re almost there!” Kuroo sat himself straight up, then ripped Kenma’s blankets off with zeal, grabbing Kenma’s hands and pulling him up into a sitting position.  “Now for a whole month you’ll be the same age as me.”

Kenma slowly blinked his eyes open as his throat slowly closed.  Kuroo’s smile was the brightest thing in the dim room not quite yet illuminated by the morning’s light.  Dazzling and warm in the dawn.

“I—“ Kenma bit his lip.

“Hm?”

 _I might like you,_ he had almost said aloud.  Half-asleep still and touched by Kuroo’s many kindnesses, he had nearly let himself get swept away in the moment.  Yes, this romantic moment where he sat in his crumpled pajamas, hair a mess, morning breath… He may not have ever held birthdays to any emotional significance, but he wasn’t about to mar his fifteenth by making Kuroo run away in disgust first thing in the morning. 

“Kenma?”

“I’m sleepy.” He mumbled instead.  It was the truth.

“Well, I did wake you up earlier than you’re normally used to.  Sorry.  But I’m a stickler for tradition.” Kuroo winked.

“Don’t you have a train to catch?”

Kuroo was still holding Kenma’s hands from when he had pulled him up.  They were big and warm around his own, and Kenma wanted him to never let go.  He wanted to lace their fingers and hold them tight, bind Kuroo to him and hold him in this moment in time—or let Kuroo whisk him ahead to the future where they’d be high school students together. 

“Ah, yeah.  I need to get going.” Kuroo gave Kenma’s hands a light squeeze before he let them go.  He adjusted his bag strap as he stood up, then gave Kenma’s hair one last tousle.  “Don’t fall back asleep and end up late to school on your own birthday.”

Kenma gave a noncommittal grunt as Kuroo rushed out of his bedroom and back into the real world.

The second he heard the front door open and close, Kenma slumped sideways back onto his bed, burying his now-scarlet face into the sheets.  His cheeks were burning up with fever, and the skin of his hands tingled as the last of Kuroo’s warmth faded from them.

He was now fifteen, felt like he had run a marathon from his bed, and still hopelessly in love.

“Happy birthday to me…” he muttered pathetically to himself.

* * *

 

Kuroo frequently wished that he and Kenma had been born in the same year.  As a child, he had always found it unfair that his very best friend couldn’t be with him at all times to share in his every experience.  That pesky one-year difference put them in different years, different classes, different field trips, sometimes different lunch break hours… But for one month between October and November, he could pretend like they were classmates; same year, same everything.  He adored celebrating Kenma’s birthday.  This year more than ever before.  He felt it brought them closer together.

His own birthday, by contrast, distanced them again—a harsh reminder of the reality that no matter how much he wanted to wait for Kenma to catch up, Time pushed him one step ahead always. 

On top of that, Nekoma had been knocked out in the quarterfinals during the Spring High qualifying tournament just two days prior.  They’d been soooo close to advancing, but enough mistakes in judgment had accumulated at the worst of times during their last set.  Tired and exhausted, they had muddled through the third set, pushing a deuce to twenty-eight points, but in the end, there was only bitter defeat.  Afterwards, he could only think of how Kenma would never have made the miscalls their current setter had.

“Why are you so gloomy?  It’s your birthday.”  Kenma poked Kuroo’s forehead just above his brow line.  “Or do you just hate my present that much?”

Kenma’s gift—a miracle just for existing since he forgot half the years—had been a new pair of black jeans.  Kuroo knew they were really a gift from Kenma’s mother, to whom his own mother had no doubt bemoaned her son’s now-immense height.  His shrinking closet needed re-filling after several pairs of pants suddenly became crop or capri length and just a touch too snug in the hips. 

“Mom bought them,” Kenma confessed.  “But I picked them out.”

“I’ll wear them all the time.  Every single time I go over or go out.  I’ll wear them until they’re faded and ripped and falling apart at the seams.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Kenma shook his head, but he wore a pleased smile.  “It’s getting harder to shop for you.  I wasn’t quite sure what you might want.”

 _I want to kiss you._ Kuroo’s brain rudely interjected with impeccable timing. 

“Anything’s fine, it’s the thought that counts.” Kuroo smiled.  It made him unreasonably giddy to know Kenma thought of him, even a little. 

“You’re still upset about something though.”

“Well… we don’t get to go to Nationals.” Kuroo sighed.  “It’s hard not to be disappointed about missing out on Spring High.  That glittering national stage…”

Kenma listened for a long, silent minute before nudging Kuroo’s shoulder with his own.  “It’s good.  You being disappointed.”

“What?!”

“I mean… What I mean is that I’d rather you be upset about losing than how you were after InterHigh.  You were all… _detached_ then.  It felt like you had given up on volleyball, since you couldn’t even be bothered about losing.  Seeing you like that was… it was really creepy.”

Kuroo could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

“You thought that?  You never said anything!”

“I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”  Kenma admitted quietly.  “Before I could figure out how, you went away for a week, and when you came back, you seemed fine again.  I thought maybe I had imagined it.  I may not be the best at talking to people, but even I know better than to say, ‘be more upset about losing.’” 

“…You weren’t imagining it.” Kuroo admitted finally, nudging their shoulders together again.  “I _was_ pretty down.  And maybe I wasn’t thinking of quitting volleyball completely, but I really wasn’t enjoying myself.  Things were…”  He considered his words carefully.  “… _complicated_.  And I had a lot on my mind.”

“Should I have said something?”

 _I wish you had,_ was Kuroo’s immediate thought, but it was questionable how much Kenma could have even helped.  He wouldn’t have been able to give him the advice Bokuto eventually did, and his then-vulnerable heart could have misinterpreted Kenma’s friendly sympathy for something else entirely.  In retrospect, it may have been for the best that Kenma hadn’t brought it up, but the longing was inescapable. 

“Well… it worked out in the end.” 

“Next time, I’ll say something.”

“I’ll try to make sure there isn’t a next time.  I’m the older one.”  And he was again, as of today.  “I can’t have you worrying after me.” 

Time pushed him on ahead, and Kuroo stepped seamlessly back into his usual role.

“Stop trying to be cool,” Kenma grimaced as Kuroo ruffled his hair.  “Yesterday, we were the same age and you thought it was the best thing ever.”

“Depends on the situation.  Yesterday was yesterday and today is today.  Now I’m older again so it’s my job to look after you.”

Kenma frowned deeply.  Not his usual, petulant frowns.  This one screamed, _I’m reliable too. I’m not that much younger._ Some of the wrinkles between his brows read, _Kuroo, you idiot!_

“Next time, I’ll say something.” Kenma repeated, turning on a phone game to end the conversation. 

Silence passed for a while after that, heavy and looming between them like a storm cloud.  Time spent with Kenma was never meant to be uncomfortable.  Kuroo knew he was the one making it awkward, but his eyes still drifted repeatedly back to his friend.  Kenma’s adolescent growth had gone much more slowly than his own.  There were only subtle differences between now and the start of the school year for his friend, and if Kuroo projected Kenma’s future appearance based on the changes now, he imagined that an adult Kenma would be quite beautiful.

“I can feel you staring.” Kenma said quietly, eyes locked onto his game.

Kuroo looked away immediately, shame brightening his features. He rattled his brains for a cover story.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

That was a conversation starter, not a finisher (as he had meant to do).  Kuroo felt his palms grow sweaty as Kenma paused his game at last to look straight at him.  That ever sharp gaze made his chest grow tight—that all-seeing stare usually made others ill-at-ease; Kuroo wasn’t used to it being turned against him.  How much could Kenma really discern about a person?  Did Kuroo have enough of a poker face to hide his growing affections?  Had Kenma already seen through it weeks before and kept quiet?

“We’re… friends, right?” Kenma asked with no small amount of hesitation.

“Yeah.” Kuroo said cautiously.  “Why would you ask me—“

“You’re not my _senpai,_ or my older brother.  We’re only eleven months apart, you’re always treating me like an equal, so we’re _friends._  Right?”

There was a lurking irritation behind those questions.  Kuroo could only nod.

“So… friends rely on each other.  You’re struggling—or, you were.  I saw it, and… I should have said something, but you never ask me for help or anything either.” 

In all their years as friends, Kuroo could not have anticipated _this_ sort of conversation ever taking place.

“Kenma…”

“It’s your birthday.  Today is… I didn’t mean to bring it up right now.  But I’m… I’m just reminding you I can be here for you too.”  Kenma huffed, and it seemed like most of his irritation was flying out of him with his words.  Kuroo’s slightly dazed expression was oddly mollifying.

The shock eventually faded into appreciation—he was touched, truly—which then pulled tears out of him from a place he hadn’t expected.  He had cried in front of Kenma maybe three times in all the time they’d known each other.  Once, he had teared up for a movie they were watching, and on two other occasions, he had cried because they had lost a volleyball game. 

“K-Kuro?” Kenma touched his arm, alarmed.  “Wh-what… Don’t cr—I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a bad friend or anything, I—“

“It’s not you.” Kuro sniffed, rubbing at his eyes.  A partial lie.  “I just—“

“W-well… I… Do you need—?”

Kenma wrung his hands and stammered, swaying between grabbing Kuroo’s shoulder in comfort or grabbing a tissue from somewhere.  Eventually, he settled into his knees and held out his arms, inviting.

“Here.” He muttered, face red from equal parts guilt and embarrassment.  Surely, only the best of friends made their friends cry on their birthdays.

It was a familiar gesture, though Kuroo was usually the one offering it and Kenma was obviously imitating him.  It occurred to him that if he could pretend they were class mates for a month, he could pretend that Kenma’s current kindness meant more than it did.  A dangerous, slippery slope.  Slowly, he eased himself into Kenma’s hug, wrapping his long arms nearly all the way around the smaller boy’s waist and resting his forehead on Kenma’s shoulder.  He felt Kenma’s small hands rest on his back, the touch light and uncertain, hesitation coloring the delicate way he ran his palms up and down across his shirt. 

It was enough.  For now, it was enough.

 _I can’t wait until he’s at Nekoma with me._ Kuroo squeezed the small body in his arms, and his heart clung to Kenma’s little gasp of surprise.  _We’re not meant to be apart like this._

* * *

 

“Should I come over to see you in your new uniform now… or wait until tomorrow morning?”

Kuroo’s voice squawked from Kenma’s phone on his desk, the speakerphone acoustics leaving much to be desired.  But Kenma’s hands were busy unwrapping his new high school uniform and smoothing out the creases in the fabric.

“Does it matter?” Kenma asked into the air, wondering if he was being loud enough for the microphone to pick up his voice.

After several seconds of silence, he figured it hadn’t.  “Does it matter?” he repeated, slightly louder this time.

“Sorry, I was thinking.” 

This was why Kenma preferred texting. 

Clicking his tongue at his phone and at his new uniform—because he was not going to actually iron it to get the creases out—Kenma finally wrestled with a hanger to get everything hung up against his closet door. 

“I need you to teach me how to tie my tie,” Kenma retrieved his phone and shut off the speakerphone, pulling the device up to his ear.  “But I guess that can be in the morning too.”

“I’m trying to decide which one is better.  Seeing you tomorrow morning coming out of your house in the new uniform, or seeing you swipe your pass case at the train station as the first time… or walking through the school gates?  The cherry blossoms should be blooming right now so that’d be super picturesque.” 

“Kuro.” Kenma’s voice was firm, but his face was running hotter than his phone against his cheek.  “It’s just a uniform.  A uniform that _you already have_.”

“Yeah… but now I’ll get to see it on you!”

“You sound like a perverted old man.”

“Well if that’s what you think of me, then I’m definitely not gonna push to see it tonight, just the two of us, alone, in your room.”  Kuroo huffed.

Kenma suddenly wanted Kuroo to come over that instant.  He bit his lip to avoid saying so.

“Your efforts to sound less creepy could use some work.”

“You’re so cold to me…” Kuroo whined.  “Tomorrow morning then?  I’ll wait outside your house and help you tie your tie before we get to the train station.” 

“Whatever…” Kenma mumbled, hiding his bright red face in his pillow.  He ran the scenario of Kuroo’s hands looping carefully around the fabric at his neck in his head and it overwhelmed him.  He’d blush furiously, he knew it. 

Perhaps it’d be better to have his mother teach him tonight so he could save face in the morning.  It was either that or he’d have to exercise his best poker face in the morning of his first day of high school.

 

Kenma decided on poker face, and walked out of his house to a furiously grinning Kuroo outside the front gate, the thin red fabric swinging loosely from around his neck. 

“Picture perfect!  My little Kenma all grown up and off to high school!”

Kuroo smiled at him, and Kenma forced a furrow between his eyebrows so that he couldn’t appear at all pleased about this.  Kuroo hadn’t behaved this way when Kenma had gotten his middle school uniform, but maybe _gakuran_ were less exciting to him; not nearly as special as the uniform for _Nekoma_ , the school that held his dream volleyball team. 

“Just one last thing.”

Kuroo’s hands near his neck pulled Kenma violently out of his thoughts, and the smaller boy kept his eyes fixed straight ahead at Kuroo’s own tie, looking for details to distract him: the shade of the red (dark), the brightness of the white (nearly grey), the contrast of the stripes (just low enough that the tie appeared entirely red from far away), the exact distance between the stripes (two centimeters, maybe?), the neat knot of fabric that sat perfectly at the base of Kuroo’s long, perfect neck—no, this wasn’t working.  Kenma swallowed hard just as Kuroo pulled on the fabric gently to tighten the tie around his neck.  The long fingers then neatly straightened the collar of his shirt around the band of red and playfully poked at Kenma’s nose before they regrettably went away.

“There.  Now you’re ready.”

 _No I’m not,_ Kenma thought miserably as he looked at Kuroo, heart thudding wildly against his ribs.  A year he had spent longing to be together again with his friend and now that time had finally brought them to this moment, he wanted to just run back inside and sleep for at least another day.  Or week. 

He had hoped his feelings might have settled before high school started, but clearly he had underestimated how stubborn his heart could be. 

“I just remembered!” Kuroo gasped suddenly, making Kenma jump.

“What?”  He hated being startled out of his most dangerous thoughts—he was always afraid it was because his mind was being read, or worse that he would blurt out something perilously revealing in his surprise.  Kenma had never done this, but he’d seen it in enough media to fear it happening.

“Now I get to look forward to seeing you in the red team jersey!”

Kenma punched Kuroo’s arm.  “Creep,” he muttered before shoving past him to get them moving.  He smiled when he moved out of Kuroo’s line of sight—only for a second—before replacing the furrow between his brows.  He wasn’t pleased about this.  Not any of it.  Not at all. 

* * *

 

In his excitement to have Kenma join him at Nekoma at last, Kuroo had completely forgotten that his dear friend would not be the only new first year to join the team. 

Standing there sandwiched between a yankee kid sporting a plain buzz-cut plus a shit-eating grin and a mute boy with nearly zero presence and nearly zero eyebrows, Kenma looked oddly ordinary.  Kuroo hoped their combined oddness meant good relations between the three of them. 

The new captain spoke the familiar words: “So we have a tradition of asking new club members what their goals are.  Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

“I’m Yamamoto Taketora, and I’m gonna become Nekoma’s ace and take us to Nationals!”  The yankee kid—now dubbed Yamamoto—punctuated his claim by throwing his arm suddenly around Kenma and grinning wide.  Kuroo suspected he just needed to grab someone.  Kenma looked mortified.  Kuroo liked him already. 

From the other end of the line, the mute one spoke up in a quiet voice (as expected).  “Fukunaga Shouhei.  I’d like to become a regular.”  Simple, to the point, and on completely the opposite end of the spectrum from the ‘future ace.’

Still uncomfortably held by Yamamoto, Kenma mumbled, “Kozume Kenma.  I’m here because Kuro asked me to be.”

Kuroo felt himself deflate instantly as Yaku laughed uproariously beside him.  The upperclassmen exchanged confused glances and muttered between themselves, raising their eyebrows at a mortified Kuroo.  Fantastic start. 

The other first-years took little notice as Yamamoto immediately began asking the other two what positions they played and what schools they had come from. 

Yaku punched Kuroo’s arm suddenly.  “So?  Introduce us to your brilliant setter!”

This earned them a wary glance from a few of the third-years (their main setter included) and Kuroo considered clapping his hand over Yaku’s mouth and flinging him into the net.  Except the damage was done.

The captain clapped his hands and called for them to begin warm-ups before long.  The first practice of every year was intensely focused on receives, Nekoma’s signature strength and strategy.  Never drop the ball.  Connect every play.  It was to Kuroo’s great delight that Kenma could keep up with the drills—though he’d no doubt be exhausted by the end.  Between the three new players, Fukunaga had the cleanest form and the highest rate of successfully received balls.  Yamamoto was the worst, but not by an egregious margin, and he certainly had energy to spare and the enthusiasm to make up for it. 

During the break, the first-years flocked together around Kenma, Yamamoto flinging a towel at Kenma’s head and offering them all water bottles. 

“You’re gonna burn a hole into the back of his head.” Yaku was suddenly beside Kuroo, who jumped.  Small and sneaky made for an awful combination. 

“What?”

“You’re staring.”  Yaku passed Kuroo a water bottle as he wiped the sweat off his neck.  “Are you _that_ happy to have Kenma on the team now?”

He knew Yaku would poke fun at him for this, he had seen it coming like a bullet train.  But it didn’t stop the smile from spreading slowly across his face, eyes crinkling from the relief inside him. 

“Yeah.  Yeah I am.”

Yaku blinked several times slowly as comprehension began to sink in.  Then he coughed and excused himself because Kuroo was being ‘way too honest’ and ‘frankly embarrassing.’  Crouching down next to a stretching Kai instead, Yaku stared at Kuroo across the gym, who in turn had returned his gaze to Kenma. 

“Something wrong?”

“I think I’ve just figured out why all those girls never stood a chance.”

Kai’s only reply was a nebulous smile Yaku couldn’t parse. 

As Kuroo wandered over to the new first-years, Yamamoto and Fukunaga rose to their feet to bow at him.  Kenma remained firmly seated.

“Kuro.”

“Oh!  This is your _senpai_ friend!” Yamamoto roared.  He marveled at Kuroo’s height and began to gush.  “Kuroo- _senpai_!”

“You really don’t need to call me _senpai_ …” Kuroo grinned.  He’d go deaf if he stood too close for too long. 

“Kuroo-san!” Yamamoto settled.  “Are you the team’s ace?!”

Kuroo snorted and put his hands on his hips.  “Why?  Do I look like the ace?”

“You look cool, so you have to be!”

Kenma scoffed from the floor, rolling his eyes at Yamamoto’s (what he considered) incredibly inaccurate assessment of his friend. 

“I’m flattered.” Kuroo put a hand to his heart.  “But don’t let our ace hear you.” He pointed behind him to where the third-years were standing.

“Eh?!  Ah…” Yamamoto grabbed his head as Fukunaga quietly slinked back down to the ground. 

Yaku and Kai found their way over to them as Yamamoto began fretting in a still-somewhat-loud whisper as to whether the current ace might have heard him or not.  Ignoring the boy’s concerns, Yaku grinned down at Kenma instead. 

“So you’re the famous Kenma.”

Suddenly all eyes were on the setter, and Kenma began to shrink into himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and silently nodding his head once in reply.

“Eh?!  Eh!  What’s this?” Yamamoto flung himself back down to the floor, crouching next to Kenma and throwing an arm around his shoulders.  “Do _all_ the upperclassmen know about you already?  Are you some like… genius setter I don’t know about?”

“Something like that.” Kuroo smirked.

“Kuro, don’t just make stuff up about me.” 

“I’m not making anything up.”  Turning more to Yamamoto, Kuroo began to practically rhapsodize, “This guy is super observant.  And shrewd.  If we make plays based on what he tells us to do, it’s a sure path to victory.”

“Whoah… that’s cool.”  Yamamoto gaped, volume now much _much_ quieter. 

“Kuro…” Kenma was pouting now.

“I’m looking forward to having you on the team, Kenma!” Yaku cut in, winking and holding out his hand for him to shake.  The libero planned on reserving full judgment until they could actually see Kenma in action, but he wanted the poor boy to feel welcome. 

“Let me shake your hand too.” Yamamoto reached for Kenma’s hand as soon as Yaku let go of it, but Kenma yanked it back and tucked it against his chest. 

“We’re the same year—“

“That makes it extra important!  Right, Fukunaga?!”

Fukunaga blinked twice, which Yamamoto took to mean ‘yes’ before he continued.

“See!  Even Fukunaga thinks so.  Plus, you’re a setter.  And the ace is nothing without a setter!”

“You’re not the ace yet.” Kenma grumbled stubbornly.  And technically speaking, the ace was nothing without a _team_. 

“ _Yet_!” he smirked, oozing confidence. 

Kenma glared up at Kuroo with a look that plainly said: _This is all your fault._

Kuroo answered that glare with a broad grin, accepting full responsibility.

* * *

 

Practice was exhausting, and Kenma hated feeling tired.  He knew the soreness in his muscles and the stinging sensation on his arms were the cost to being on a Top 8 team in Tokyo.  Like it or not, he’d have to put in a little more work than he’d strictly like.  But it felt almost worth the effort seeing Kuroo waiting for him outside the club room, waving at him so they could walk home together.  Watching Kuroo’s feet walk in time with his own steps, his presence tall and warm beside him as they made the trek home… Kenma had ached with longing for a year just for this.  Just this simple act of walking home together after school.

“How are your arms?” Kuroo asked him playfully.

“I need new ones.” Kenma grumbled.  “These are beyond recovery.”

Kuroo laughed aloud beside him on the train platform.  “I’ll help with stretching when we get home.  If you don’t stretch again later, you’ll _really_ hate yourself.”

“You’re paying for my new arms.”

“Sure.”

_Now arriving on platform two, the Seibu-Ikebukuro line bound for Nishi-Tokorozawa.  Please watch your step as you board the train._

Kuroo offered Kenma the last empty seat in their train car, and the setter took it gladly.  Anything to get off his feet.  Leaning his head against the window, Kenma could see Kuroo grinning mischievously down at him, and he felt a treacherous blush creep up his neck. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Kuroo hummed.  “Do you like your classmates?”

“Yamamoto is too _loud_ ,” Kenma griped.  “And hyper.  And Fukunaga is…”  _Quiet.  Inconspicuous.  Plain._ “Fukunaga’s all right.” 

High praise coming from Kenma, but Kuroo’s eyes were shimmering with delight.  Clearly, he was much more excited about the other two than Kenma was, for reasons yet unknown. 

“Are they everything you hoped for when it comes to incoming first-years?”

“All of you are.”  Kuroo nudged Kenma’s knees with his own.  It took a bit of squatting, since Kenma’s knees were a little lower than his own.  “And you most of all.”

Kenma suddenly found his knees extremely interesting, since Kuroo was apparently blithely unaware that his words had consequences.  The setter knocked their knees together again as the train jostled and averted his eyes to looking around the crowded car at the other passengers.  A girl standing by the door a few meters away was sneaking glances at Kuroo whenever she looked up from her phone.  Kenma knew the feeling.  He stole glances as often as he could lately.  He was stealing a few now.  On the train, on the walk through their neighborhood…

He stole glances at school, during practice, on the train, in his room… Every time he caught himself staring, he swore it would be the last time.  Every look was a final look.  The last indulgence before he finally learned how to steel his heart and go back to normal.  But then Kuroo would give one of his stupid grins or let out one of his ridiculous cackles or run his hands through his mess of hair with a slow roll of his shoulders like one of those damnably sensual shampoo commercials… Or worst of all, he would smile. 

Sometimes, Kuroo would give a soft, wholly affectionate smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened his sharp brows, and then Kenma was doomed all over again. 

“Hey Kenma?” Kuroo nudged his shoulder as they reached Kenma’s home.  “I’m really happy we’re on the same team again.”

Then he gave him one of _those_ smiles and held out a fist, and Kenma bumped it with as much nonchalance as he could muster, grateful to be standing right in front of his house for immediate escape. 

 _You’re blowing it out of proportion,_ he wanted to say to him.  _Overly sentimental.  Sappy.  Dumb._

“Me too.” He muttered instead.  Betrayed by his own mouth, listening to his heart of hearts instead of his brain.  Kenma prayed it wouldn’t become a trend.

* * *

 

“I just think the ace of a team should have a super distinctive look, ya know?  If you stand out the most and everyone can look at you and just _know_ that you’re the ace, I mean… wouldn’t that be kinda cool?  Or intimidating?  Totally throw the other team off their game.”

Fukunaga and Kenma exchanged silent glances regarding Yamamoto’s bizarre ramblings as the three of them carried armfuls of dirty towels and jackets over to the outside washing area. 

“Tattoo,” Fukunaga suggested quietly.  It was hard to tell if he was being serious.

“The school doesn’t allow tattoos or piercings,” Kenma reminded them.  “You’d get kicked off the team.” 

“And I can’t be an ace without a team…” Yamamoto considered carefully, turning his eyes to the sky and trotting slightly ahead.  “They’re pretty relaxed about what students can do with their hair though!  What if I bleached it?  Or cut it into a mohawk?!  Or both?!!”

Fukunaga pursed his lips as if actually considering the idea sensible, and Kenma was about to open his mouth to protest when Yamamoto suddenly halted in his tracks, turning around swiftly and gesturing to the other two to stop. 

“What’s—“ Kenma suddenly found Yamamoto’s hand clapped over his mouth as the spiker put a finger to his own lips, eyes wide. 

He then pointed wildly to the wall of the gym and moved them all up against it, moving his hand from Kenma’s mouth to Fukunaga’s, even though the boy hadn’t said anything. 

“Around the corner,” Yamamoto whispered (still loudly).  “Kuroo-san is with a girl!”

Quietly, the three of them carefully inched to the edge of the wall, Kenma crouching the lowest to the ground, Fukunaga bending over above him, and Yamamoto bending over above them all.  It was a horrible invasion of privacy, truly.  The three of them were being really _very_ awful and of course had no business eavesdropping on this scene.  For a few seconds, they all wore furrowed brows on their expressions to display some small iota of shame, coming to a silent agreement that they were all horrible _kouhai._ Then they poked their heads around the corner, straining their ears to overhear the scene.  Kenma even tucked his hair behind his ear on that side so he could hear better, though it’d be much more helpful to have his heart settle down.  The blood rushing through his ears was making it much more difficult to hear. 

“I’m sure… you probably know… why I called you out here.”

The girl’s voice was barely audible from where they stood. 

“I’m sorry to bother you during practice.  I just wasn’t sure… what other time was convenient.”

Yamamoto was shaking Fukunaga for some reason, grinning from ear to ear. 

 _Cuuuuuute!!!_ He mouthed at them.  Kenma didn’t need to know how to read lips to understand that.  When he turned his head further around the corner so that he could get a better look, he hated that he couldn’t exactly disagree.  She had long, sleek black hair that fell to her waist and soft eyes—a classic beauty.  Kenma felt his stomach sink and he clung tightly to the pile of laundry in his arms, grateful he had something to hold onto. 

“I really like you.”

For some reason, Kenma heard that loud and clear, and it echoed in his ears with a disgusting warble.  She was shifting nervously, fiddling with her hair, the hem of her blazer.  She’d look up at Kuroo, find it to be too much then look away with a flush.  It was all very formulaic. 

Kenma looked away.  If Kuroo said yes for whatever reason and hugged this girl, he wouldn’t be able to stomach it.  Fukunaga and Yamamoto were spellbound above him.  Kenma half-wanted to puke.

“Sorry,” came Kuroo’s voice after some time.  “But I can’t return your feelings.” 

Yamamoto shook Fukunaga violently in shock or outrage—it didn’t matter which to Kenma, it was relief like he had never felt before.  He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and loosened his suffocating grip on the laundry.  He hadn’t lost Kuroo yet. 

“I understand,” the girl replied graciously.  “Sorry to have bothered you… during practice and everything.”

“It’s fine.” 

“Can I ask if… if there’s someone you already like?”

Kenma’s heart was in his throat again.  Somehow, this was worse than before.  If Kuroo answered in the affirmative, then the truth was that he had lost Kuroo already.  Maybe he’d lost him long ago and it was just that Kuroo hadn’t worked up the nerve to confess.  If Kuroo answered negatively, Kenma would be safe from losing his friend to some cute girl, but it also meant Kuroo probably wasn’t harboring any secret affections for his long-time childhood friend. 

“There is.”

Kenma’s vision went fuzzy.

“They’re not in our class.  Or in our year.  And the truth is, I know I don’t really have a shot, but… I can’t help feeling how I feel.”

“I understand,” the girl repeated, though her voice was a little less pained now.  She either hid her grief well or had overcome the rejection within minutes.  Kenma wished he had never listened in at all. 

Yamamoto pulled them both away from the edge of the wall, arms flailing.  He’d dropped his pile of laundry long ago. 

“I can’t believe he rejected such a cute girl!!!” he hissed loudly. 

Fukunaga shrugged, trying to pull his jacket back up his shoulders since Yamamoto had nearly ripped it off him in the latter portion of their eavesdropping. 

“He gets confessions all the time,” Kenma explained robotically, eyes to the ground.  “And tons of love letters.  This isn’t anything new.” 

Except it was.  Kenma had never witnessed any of these confessions firsthand.  The sick feeling came back in a rush, and he groaned.  They should never have done this; curiosity really did kill cats probably.  Kenma certainly felt like he was dying. 

“Kenma!” 

Kuroo’s voice startled them all, though Yamamoto’s startled (oddly high-pitched) scream startled Kuroo in turn. 

“Geez, Yamamoto…” Kuroo groaned, a finger in his ears.  “What are all of you doing loitering around here?”  His eyes darted around nervously between them before landing on the pile of laundry sitting at Yamamoto’s feet. 

“We were just… on our way to wash some towels…” Yamamoto stammered, frantically picking up the scattered towels and jackets off the ground, now much dirtier than before.

“And eavesdropping,” Fukunaga stated.

“Ah hah ha hhahahaha!!!  We’ll just be on our way then!” Yamamoto screeched, launching himself into Fukunaga to move them along. 

Kenma avoided Kuroo’s questioning stare as he ran after his teammates, eager to escape the moment as quickly as possible.  But Kuroo grabbed his arm suddenly, asking,

“How much of that did you see?”

“…” It was hard to tell if Kuroo was angry with him.  “…pretty much all of it.” Kenma mumbled.  He recalled the look that he had shared with the others before they started listening in.  There was still guilt underneath the other frenzied emotions in his stomach; Kenma knew he didn’t exactly have the moral high ground here.  “Sorry.  We just—“

Kuroo continued to say nothing, and Kenma kept his eyes firmly on the ground. 

“S-sorry,”  He repeated.

After a little while longer, Kuroo finally let go of his arm, sighing as he tucked his hands into his pockets.  “Do you want help with those?”

Kenma gripped the laundry, thankful that he had it so he had something to hold onto in this bizarre moment.  The other were waiting.

“We’ve got it,” Kenma mumbled, daring himself to finally look up at Kuroo’s face.  He seemed… disappointed.  Well, Kenma supposed he had reason to be.

“All right.  Let me know if you need me for anything then.” Kuroo then pulled one hand out of his pocket to ruffle Kenma’s hair with the faintest of smiles.  Kenma knew it meant that Kuroo wasn’t upset with him.

But Kenma was. 

* * *

 

Kuroo had wanted Kenma at Nekoma so badly and so constantly for a year, it was hard for him to see the warning signs at first.  It wasn’t that he had forgotten what the third-years could be like, but he’d very much learned to stay out of their way—a warning he forgot to give his friend, who was lacking in social skills at the best of times and overly honest at the worst.

After a weekend practice match with a nearby school—one in which Kenma and Fukunaga did not play—Coach Naoi had said the fatal words during the team meeting afterwards.

“Good connections, good receives.  Let’s do the breakdown.  Kozume saw some areas we could improve while he was watching, and he’s got a good eye.  To start—“

The rest was white noise.  _Maybe_ the upperclassmen were listening to the briefing that followed, but Kuroo also saw the spiteful glances thrown in Kenma’s direction, the extreme displeasure in their body language.  It was too much to expect them to maturely accept constructive criticism from a first-year.  But if it would simply be more of the same mistreatment Kuroo had received a year before, he figured it wouldn’t be a huge problem.  He, Yaku, and Kai would help with clean-up and storage in opposition to how they had been treated the year before.  With all of them together, that wouldn’t be so bad.

It wasn’t more of the same.  Kuroo had never upset them the way Kenma had done.  He had been the victim of a simple gap in age that gave his upperclassmen fabled seniority.  He had never experienced them as petty, spiteful, and vindictive. 

“Ball boy!  Water!”

Kenma paused in his volleyball retrieval to fetch a water bottle from the bench and bring it to the team’s third-year setter, Kitaoka.  The senior setter snatched it ungratefully out of Kenma’s hands then pointed to the balls newly scattered about the gym floor.

“Well don’t just stand around.  Hurry and pick those up!  Someone could get hurt if you just leave those lying around too long.”

“…you asked me to bring you water.”

“Because that’s your job.  So is picking those up.  Or can’t you handle this little bit of extra work?”

“…” Kenma fiddled with his fingers anxiously. 

“Ball boy!  Towel!” Another third-year called from across the gym.

Fukunaga silently offered a towel in Kenma’s place, since he stood nearer to that side, and Kenma gave him a grateful nod as he resumed picking up volleyballs from the current serve-receive practice.

“Thanks Fukunaga; good thing not _every_ first-year is so _useless_!” He turned his head toward Kenma to punctuate his last word, and Fukunaga nervously scooted away, moving to assist Kenma instead.

“We only need one ball boy at a time, Fukunaga.  That’s not your job today, get back in the receive line.”

Fukunaga gave Kenma a long quiet look (probably apologetic), but Kenma shook his head, encouraging his classmate to do as the upperclassmen said.  The silent support spoke volumes; he appreciated the microscopic furrow between Fukunaga’s thin eyebrows.  And it wasn’t just Fukunaga.  Yamamoto too, never failed to loudly and boisterously offer to help with laundry and whatever Kenma was made to carry at any given moment, proclaiming his much-greater strength.  It was comforting to know that they would both rather stand in solidarity with him instead of vying for the approval of the third-years. 

It came as no surprise to anyone to see the chores list at the end of every practice, the burden heavily skewed onto the youngest three. 

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Kuroo had told them.  “We’ll help too, it doesn’t that _that_ long to get everything done.” 

“Do third-years never help clean?” Kenma had asked.

“Nah…” Kuroo feigned nonchalance.  “Seniority and all that.  The grandpas need to rest so it’s up to us!”

It had served as a good-enough excuse in the short-term but it failed to prevent Kenma getting repeatedly singled out during practice.  He was stuck on ball-boy duty a disproportionate amount to the others, and as an added slight, the third years avoided calling Kenma by name as much as possible.  Kuroo joking reassured him: _To name a thing is to give it power.  Or something like that._

The odd thing was that Kenma also refused to back down.  His observations and opinions were still highly valued by everyone who wasn’t an asshat, and Coach Naoi listened frequently to any input Kenma had to offer.  Frustratingly for the oldest players, he was never wrong.  There was no legitimate way for the underclassmen to undermine him.  Petty was all they could really manage. 

Kenma could be petty too.

When Tora asked, “Think my jump serve will ever be as good as the captain’s?” 

Kenma’s reply had been within earshot.  “Even better.  You have more overall power and a higher jump height.  I give it a year or so.” 

When Fukunaga fumbled the rare receive, Kenma’s not-so-quiet advice had been, “You’re letting your elbows loose like Kitaoka.  Tuck them in more.” 

It earned him knowing sneers from the second-years and usually a few extra laps around the gym.

Clean-up after practice also grew more difficult as the captains began stealing Kuroo and Kai away into their after-practice meetings.  Sometimes Yaku was also called away, but whenever he wasn’t, the libero helped the first-years with their cleaning tasks.  He was truly a model _senpai_ , sometimes also treating the three to ice cream or drilling them extra on receives.  Firm and kind.

If it weren’t such a violation of the terms of their relationship, Kuroo might have thanked Yaku for all his efforts and for looking out for his friend.  Or maybe he could have admitted aloud how his own magnanimous spirit would’ve chosen Yaku for his vice-captain were it not for his libero playing position.  Instead his vice-captain was Kai, with whom Kuroo found himself often questioning who between them was truly better fit to be the captain.  Popular opinion gave the title to Kuroo, but he was having difficulty feeling comfortable with it.

Telling his teammates didn’t exactly garner much sympathy. 

“I thought you always wanted to be captain.” Yaku chided during stretches one afternoon.

“What gave you that idea?” Kuroo grimaced as Yaku pressed more weight onto his knee on Kuroo’s back. 

“You’re bossy as hell.” Yaku threw more weight onto his knee, curious to see if he could actually bend the middle blocker in half.  The pained cries and flailing arms told him: not quite yet.  “That and you were the one with all these big plans for the team.”

“You’re gonna kill me first—“ Kuroo groaned, slapping the gym floor in defeat to get Yaku off him.

“Weren’t you gonna build the team around Kenma?”

“As his friend, yeah, that’s what I wanted to do.  But as a captain, I have to consider everyone else’s opinions too.  It’s not like I can just force everyone to agree with that and—“

“I don’t know anyone who _doesn’t_ value his opinion.” Yaku rolled his eyes in the direction of their elders.  “Certain obvious company excluded.  The other first-years respect him.  Kai and I are on-board.” 

Kai nodded his head silently beside them.

“So step up, future captain.” Yaku punched Kuroo’s arm just gently enough to avoid leaving a bruise.  “If you don’t, we’ll probably lose our future setter soon.”

They all looked across the gym to where Kenma trudged along with his arms full of the team’s laundry, head hung low and his expression twisted into an unmistakable scowl.  

* * *

 

“They made me run extra laps again…”

Kenma mumbled, burying his face into his knees.  He was tired—he hated being tired—and sore all over.  If it were just his physical condition, that’d be one thing, but he was emotionally exhausted too, and that one was probably worse.  The frustration with the upperclassmen ate away at him, sapping what little enjoyment he had of the sport.  He had started volleyball three years prior for Kuroo, but now Kenma wasn’t ever permitted to play.  As it was, he was useful for fetching and carrying and cleaning, and upsetting the third-years with every word that managed to escape his mouth.  It was all very unfair.

“Don’t quit.” The selfish statement escaped Kuroo’s mouth before all other thoughts.  “I heard a rumor that Coach Nekomata is coming back.  And the third-years will retire soon.  So don’t quit.” 

Kenma kept his eyes fixed firmly on the river, hating the longing in Kuroo’s face for convincing him to stay.  He hated how he yearned to hear it, to be told how much Kuroo valued him for the sport he valued above all else.  This too was unfair. 

“The current first and second years recognize how incredible you are.  The team will definitely be stronger because of you.  And soon we can make the team however we want it to be.  I’ll be captain and everything.” 

Kenma looked up at Kuroo then.  “…you?  Captain?”

“Try not to look _too_ surprised,” Kuroo gave a nervous smile.  “It was decided only a little while ago.  But I’ll do the best I can to make a team that works for us.  With you as our setter—our brain.  Of sorts.”

Fake it till you make it, Yaku had said to him.  If he pretended to be a cool, mature captain, he could actually become one.  That was the theory anyway.  But Kenma’s all-seeing stare was rapidly chipping away at his new façade, and it wasn’t long before Kuroo crumbled.

Sighing, he moved to sit on the grass beside his friend and gently bumped their knees together.

“I should’ve told you.  What they’re like.”

“The third-years.”  Kenma suddenly understood Kuroo’s immense slump from the year before. 

“They were shitheads to us too, but… They were never _this_ bad.  Maybe because last year they were still just second-years.  Or maybe you’re just special.” Kuroo winked.

“Lucky me…” Kenma grumbled, turning his eyes back to the river and forcing himself to focus on the cool breeze blowing against his face instead of the warmth of Kuroo’s leg pressed against his own.

“Truth is, I didn’t want to tell you and scare you off.  I lied by omission, because I wanted you on the team no matter what.  Well, that part’s pretty obvious by now, I think.”

Kenma hated standing out, which meant he always knew when he was being watched or noticed.  He knew how much the upperclassmen looked at him with disdain, but he also knew how the rest of the team viewed him with… _expectation_ and something else that was probably respect. 

“Some captain you are, making _me_ the center of the team…”

“Yeah.  I’m pretty useless.” Kuroo smiled.  “What sort of team has a middle blocker for a captain?  That’s why I need you around.  Like my shadow captain or something.”

It occurred to Kenma then that Kuroo looked at him somewhat differently even from how everyone else did.  There was something else behind those eyes that made Kenma hope beyond all reason for something more than friendship.

“You just need me for volleyball.” Kenma tested, watching carefully now.

“Well… not _just_ volleyball.” That wink wasn’t the same as the one from before.  Nor was it the same as the ones he shared with the others.  It was less playful.  “I need emotional support too, remember?”  There was a wry grin, but there was an affection coloring his eyes now.  Kenma didn’t think Kuroo smiled at Yaku or Kai this way.

Kenma shifted his weight, turning so his body faced Kuroo now.  In turn, Kuroo shifted nervously beside him, casting a quick nervous glance at Kenma before looking ahead and clenching his jaw.  A small flush crept to his cheeks, nearly imperceptible in the orange glow of the sunset.  His eyes flashed toward Kenma again, looking away the instant their eyes met.

_Oh._

“Kuro.”  Kenma wasn’t sure where his voice found its steadiness.  He reminded himself his instincts had always been to his credit.  His instincts told him now that he was making Kuroo nervous.  And it wasn’t because of the threat of his resignation.  “How much do you really need me?”

“Well if you leave, the team will have to pray we get a first-year setter that—“

“Not the team.  _You_.”  Kenma watched as the little knob in Kuroo’s throat caught and hesitated.  Kuroo’s eyes widened and narrowed and blinked rapidly.  “You need me more than the others do.”  It wasn’t a question.

Kuroo drew in a shaky breath, and Kenma saw the gears turning in his friend’s mind, assessing his options.  Kenma had brought them to the edge of a precipice, but they hadn’t tumbled over just yet.  They could still take careful steps backward to safety.

“If you really want to quit the team—“

Kenma pressed their lips together.  He rejected Kuroo’s backward step and pushed them stubbornly over the edge, all of his built-up frustrations from the past year (exponentially so in the past few months) propelling him forward with an uncharacteristic determination.  Suddenly, he was a risk taker. 

The fire fizzled the second he felt Kuroo’s lips.  Kenma pulled away as suddenly as he had leaned in, now awash with cold dread. 

Kuroo’s eyes were the widest Kenma had ever seen them—no precedents meant it was hard for him to know what that meant. 

“K-Kenma…” Kuroo’s voice was hoarse.  He hadn’t found it all yet. 

Kenma’s voice was nowhere to be found.  The sound had fled from his vocal chords to his rapid heartbeat, which thudded deafeningly in his ears. 

Kuroo squeezed his eyes shut in… relief?  Confusion?  Kenma’s sense were shot.  He was going to croak out that he’d take it back, he’d take it all back, but then Kuroo pressed their foreheads together, both of their faces burning.  This was relief.  This was acceptance.  Kuroo took one of Kenma’s hands in his own and entwined their fingers.  This was reciprocation.  And when Kuroo brought their hands up to his lips to kiss Kenma’s fingers… a confession.  Adoration.  So many things Kenma had never seen before but somehow, he knew them all instinctively. 

“I never could’ve imagined…” Kuroo mumbled, his thumb running gently over Kenma’s knuckles.  Kenma hadn’t realized how gentle Kuroo’s touch could be.  It made his breath stutter.  “How long did you know?  About me?”

“Five minutes?  Seven?” Kenma breathed, pouting when Kuroo pulled back and away from him.  He had liked the forehead touching. 

Kuroo laughed breathlessly and held Kenma’s hand tighter. 

“I can’t believe you kissed me out here.  In public.”  Kuroo teased.  “Or that you… for me…”

Kisses made his usually eloquent Kuroo rather inarticulate.  His?  Kenma’s brain was working at a rapid pace.  _His_.  It felt as though they had always been like this or that they were always meant to build to this bizarre moment in time.  Kenma felt like their annoyingly parallel timelines were finally crossing.  Even to the inappropriately-timed kiss.  Kenma blamed his mother’s movies for that one. 

“How long did you know?” Kuroo asked again.  “About you?”

How long had Kenma been pining after Kuroo like a love-struck child?  A year?  Maybe more.  Kenma couldn’t pin down exactly when.  But he’d cared about Kuroo for years longer than that, and he wasn’t sure which one mattered more.  They were both equally embarrassing.

He eventually shrugged.  “A while.”

“I want to kiss you again.” Kuroo whispered.  “But not out here.  And not for just a half-second.”

Kuroo gave him an entirely unfamiliar look—the type Kenma had only seen in his dreams—and it made goosebumps run up his arms.  He liked that too somehow.  He let Kuroo pull him to his feet and lead them home—an old, familiar gesture—and only frowned a little when Kuroo ruffled his hair as they stood. 

Halfway home, Kuroo suddenly stopped, turning to face Kenma with wide eyes. 

“Wait…  This means you’re staying on the team, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Kenma pulled at Kuroo’s wrist to move them along.

“Not sure.” He harrumphed.  “I might need more convincing.”  A small playful grin alighted on his lips—a look he’d never given Kuroo before—and he laughed at the floored expression he received in response.  “Now hurry up, or I’m leaving you behind.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! I started this fic pretty much right after I got home from my Japan trip back in November, and was hoping I could get it finished in time for Christmas as a gift for my readers~ This time last year I began writing the Seasons series with a story about the year Kuroo and Kenma spent apart in high school and college, and so I wanted to bring it back around with a sort-of parallel story, set three years prior. 
> 
> Thank you everyone always for your support and your wonderful comments on my work. I hope I never disappoint you guys.


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